


i have friends in (un)holy spaces

by ingenuitiveHamilton



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Addiction, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Anxiety, Artist John, Depression, Eventual Fluff, F/F, F/M, Gen, John IS Gay, Journalist Alex, M/M, Other, Panic Attacks, Peggy is a meme, Relapse, Smoking, alex is bi, angelica is angelica, eliza is too good, happy at times, lafayette is nonbinary, not all happy and gay rainbows, oh and also drinking to cope, will probably get sadder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenuitiveHamilton/pseuds/ingenuitiveHamilton
Summary: Alexander Hamilton had never been able to be in a state of inactivity. His words, thoughts, and actions always gave the impression of running at a million miles per second; he was a live wire with energy coursing through his veins at every hour of the day. It was something Alexander prided himself on, as it encouraged him to get shit done and always motivated him to be at the top of his game (with a little help from daily cups of coffee with two shots of espresso, of course). Hell, it's what got him his job as a main journalist forThe New York Times, even with being fresh out of college.However, when Alexander unexpectedly stumbles (literally) into his ex-boyfriend who he hasn't talked to or seen for almost two years, he may need to find it in him to take everyone else's advice andslow down.





	1. Zemblanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Theme Song:
> 
> "Start Over" by Imagine Dragons

_Done. Fuckin’ finally,_ Alexander thought with satisfying triumph. He briefly checked the four-page, single-spaced Word document to confirm that he had met the needed requirements that Angelica―the senior staff editor he was assigned under, and now one of his closest friends―had designated him earlier in the week. He sighed exasperatedly as he noticed he had gone over the word count limit yet _again_ , and he prayed that maybe Angelica would be so enthralled by this week’s report of his (and the fact that it was _on time_ this week) that she wouldn’t even notice nor care. He didn’t particularly want another episode where Angelica yelled at him in his office for a solid twenty minutes with an ear-piercing decibel that other editors and writers had to knock on the walls to let her know she was being deafening. (In her defense, though, Alexander  _had_ been two days late in submitting his article for the sole reason of making it _much, much, much_ lengthier than necessary.)

However, complacent with his work, Alexander stood up and stretched, his joints audibly groaning from the lack of movement they had received in a long while. He stayed in the office for an extended three hours, more than what his allotted time slot was on Fridays, but his article on the importance of health care for illegal immigrants practically screamed his name until he gave in and finished working on it. Alexander  _was_ an immigrant, after all. He had to defend the people of his own kind.

He logged off of his desktop computer while simultaneously chugging down the rest of his coffee―which was now cold from residing in a Thermos all day―and shoving his belongings back into his bag. He double (no, make that _triple_ ) checked to make sure he had collected everything (pens, check; notepad, check; glasses, check; laptop, check; ID to be allowed back in on Monday, check _wait no not check_ , okay check), and strolled out of his office and over to the elevator. He punched the down button with his index finger and was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the door opened to welcome him inside. It always took at least six minutes or so for the elevator to arrive when the building was bustling with other workers. Then again, there seemed to be no other said workers. How late was it, exactly?

The quiet jazz music that played during the day in the elevator still softly floated through the small space now, and it took everything in Alexander not to succumb to the dark depths of sleep right then and there while standing, no less. It had been days, no, _weeks_ , since the twenty-three year old received a proper night’s sleep, and by the looks of his upcoming schedule, he figured that wouldn’t be happening any time soon, either. Alexander silently thanked his lucky stars when the machine made its way to the ground floor and permitted him to step out. As he sauntered down the massive hallway to the front entrance, the small Caribbean boy still inside of him was dumbfounded and awestruck that this was his life now. After growing up dirt-poor on a small island with no father and, eventually, no mother, Alexander never expected to one day make a life for himself. Having survived one of the worst hurricanes to ever hit the Caribbean and being only seventeen when arriving in the United States for a proper education, no one else in his new life seemed to expect it, either. Only the islanders on Nevis seemed to have any faith in him. They did take up a collection to raise funds to send Alexander to the States, after all. They noticed the talent he possessed, and now, he was on his way to really making it big in the greatest city in the world. There had been some minor speedbumps along the way, sure, but he told himself every day that certain things needed to happen in order to achieve the long-term goal that ultimately benefitted him in the end. No matter how much it hurt sometimes, everything happened for a reason.

That’s what he told himself, anyways.

He was just about to open the door to the streets outside when a deep, tired voice stopped him.

“Finally finished that article, huh, Hamilton?” it asked.

Alexander turned to the origin of the sound and was greeted with the sight of George Washington sitting at the front desk; the desk usually reserved for the receptionists. No receptionists were in view.

 _Shit, it must be really late for even them to be gone_ , Alexander thought.

“You could have gone home, sir.” Alexander hadn’t meant to keep his employer waiting up all night for him. He simply wanted to finish his article so he could have it turned in before the deadline because there was just so much more to _do_ and so little _time―_

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t end up falling asleep at your desk again tonight. But that wasn’t the question I asked, son,” Washington replied, standing up from the desk chair and stretching his back. Alexander flinched at the use of the word _son_. After working under Washington for over a year now, he still wasn’t used to the fatherly compassion the former showed him. Of course, it wasn’t for the fact that it was _Washington_ showing him it, as he didn’t mind that at all, but it was because he wasn’t used to that type of affection in general.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he stammered. Man, sleep deprivation really was getting the better of him. “Yes, I managed to finish. It’s a _little_ over the word limit, sir, and by ‘a little,’” air quotes were utilized there, “I mean I went over it by at least eight hundred words, give or take a few hundred. If it’s too much, I’m sure I could find phrases and such to omit, although it might be difficult to _―_ ”

Washington held up a hand to stop him. He seemed to do that to Alexander quite a bit. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Alexander. I’ll let Miss Schuyler know not to go too harsh on you this time. I can’t have you fired simply over a noise complaint. You are our best writer, after all.” Alexander simply nodded, his mind still foreign to the amount of praise Washington always gave him.

“Thank you. Have a good night, sir,” he instead said while opening the door to the crisp New York City air.

“You too, my boy. Try to get some actual sleep tonight, eh?”

Alexander shot the man a quick but drained smile that clearly said, _You’re real funny if you think that’s gonna happen, G. Wash,_ but by considerably nicer means, of course. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and into the buzzing state that was constantly the streets of New York City. Even at, Alexander glanced at his watch, a quarter past midnight.

Maybe that’s why he loved it so much: he and the city were both incurable insomniacs.

Although Alexander liked to blame his job for his lack of sleep, he knew deep down that his job wasn’t the issue at all; even if this road of life was never originally planned to be driven on. Alexander at no time intended on being an editorial writer for _The_ _New York Times_. No, not at all, exactly. Though he had minored in journalism, he double majored in political science and financial economics. The editorial writer spot, however, was a quick offering that was available as soon as he graduated college. Washington had read Alexander’s essays that the latter had written during his time spent at Columbia and had _loved_ them; loved them so much that he offered Hamilton a job and a desk with his name on it that would be ready for him for when he was done school. Maybe it was out of pity, or maybe it was because of Alexander’s pure talent, but the writing gig allowed the college graduate to stay in the city that he adored. Stepping out into the brisk-and-slightly-polluted air reminded him of that every single day.

In retrospect, Alexander will never know what possessed him to walk the sixty-seven blocks home to his apartment on that day. Maybe it was the cool, fall air that directly contrasted with the humid, stuffiness of his office. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have any reason to get home in the twenty minutes that the subway took. He knew he would just be sitting alone in an empty apartment with nothing but his constant whirlwind of thoughts and ideas and schemes and article topics and poems and verses to keep him company. Or perhaps he just didn’t feel like spending the three dollars it took to ride the subway.

Regardless of whichever motivation inspired him, Alexander decided to walk.

After spending five years or so in the city, he had grown accustomed to people occasionally bumping into his shoulders or stepping on the back of his shoes. He was, however, not ready to collide full-force into someone hard enough to send him falling backwards, only twelve blocks into his expedition home. Every action has its equal opposite reaction, right? Newton’s third law? Either way, Alexander was now on the ground in the middle of a crowded New York City sidewalk. Possibly it was because his head was down looking at his feet or the fact that he was lost in thought for next week’s article, as per usual. He was about to throw the stereotypical, “'Ey, I’m walkin’ here!” to whoever the _hell_ he ran into when he noticed who exactly he played bumper cars with. His eyes grew wide despite his lack of alertness and he was sure that he didn’t even hear _himself_ when he squeaked out a pathetic, “John?”

 

* * *

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” John yelled, slamming the door to his apartment shut behind him. He didn’t bother to turn the lights on or to relock the door. He didn’t take off his jacket or his shoes. He didn’t care that it was late at night and that his neighbors were most likely fast asleep, not wanting any obnoxious disturbances. It was likely he woke up his entire hallway with his yells and the slam of his door. Nevertheless, John leaned his back against said door, slowly sliding down it and putting his head in his hands. He forced himself not to scream as he replayed in his head the moments that had happened no more than twenty minutes ago. Little did he know, Alexander was in his own respective apartment performing the exact same actions.

 _Why was Alexander even walking down that sidewalk so late at night?_ John asked himself. _He had a suit on. His hair was pulled back in the same way he always did it when he wanted to look half-decently put together. He was carrying that same ugly bag he had in college. He had to have been coming from work. He was done work hours before then, wasn’t he? Nine to five and all that shit?_

It didn’t make a bit of sense.

It had only been two years since John and Alexander had called it quits on their relationship, and John was doing his absolute best to forget every little piece of information connecting himself to his ex-boyfriend. Since then, John had not seen Alexander in the streets once, surprisingly enough. In fact, John had made it a special point to avoid the other at all costs. He moved off campus during the last few months of their senior year of college to live in an apartment with Lafayette and Hercules. He made sure to apply for a job far enough away from any establishment within the city that Alexander peradventure might be interested in. John, as soon as he graduated college, bought his own apartment in the same area as his job (he was only employed at one of those little studios where people came in and paid and learned how to paint a given picture, but _still_ ), just to make matters more secure. How the actual fuck had they literally run into each other?

John tried to think of what decisions he had made that night that would have possibly pointed in the direction of their brief encounter. What was he doing before all of thi _― oh_.

John had been on a date, but not in a restaurant, sipping fancy, too-expensive-for-his-tastes wine and making the awkward small talk that he never had to deal with with Alexander. Sure, the night had started that way, but the constant lip-biting and other physical, sexual innuendos that his date had displayed foreshadowed that the night was not going to stay oh-so innocent. That was how John ended up _―_ in a messy bedroom in some apartment complex three or four blocks away from the Italian restaurant the two had previously been at _―_ having one of his typical one-night stands (ever since he and Alexander ended on bad terms, for lack of a better phrase, John had never had it in him to care about a person as much as he did his ex-boyfriend; it wasn’t worth the hurt). It was right when the man _―_ John, the idiot, hadn’t even remembered this guy’s _name―_ was sucking on a sensitive area of skin under John’s left ear that he had accidentally moaned under his breath, _“Alex."_ The man, who seemed not to have heard, continued nibbling, sucking, and kissing, while John sat shell-shocked and unresponsive for several seconds. It took less time for him to decide to quickly put his shirt and pants back on and to hightail it out of there.

He was racing on his way home when he ceremoniously ran into Alexander. And then he had the nerve to _run away_ from that, too.

John needed a drink.

He slowly stood, only slightly scared that his state of shock would cause him to collapse, and made his way over to his kitchen. He opened up his refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Sam Adams, popping the lid off and downing it before he could think, _attendez._

It wasn’t until he finished his third beer that John remembered he had plans to go out with Lafayette the next morning for breakfast, but by then, the former was already drunk enough not to care if he drank one more.

 

* * *

 

“So he just… got up and scurried off?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

“But….” A pause. “That doesn’t make any sense, Alex.”

“Nothing relating to John ever makes any fucking sense, Eliza.”

He hadn’t meant to say the last part as harshly as it came out, but he really couldn't help it. Alexander hadn’t gotten a lick of caffeine in his system before just now, and something new entirely was occupying every free crevice of his mind. It wasn’t the usual work thoughts that plagued his brain. No, this time, it was _John_ ; a thought he hadn’t spent much time thinking about for a longer span of time than he’d like to admit.

Eliza, the darling she was, didn’t take offense to Alexander’s brashness. Instead, she let go of her coffee mug with one hand and silently placed it on top of Alexander’s that was resting on the table. Alexander looked down at his coffee, thankful that Eliza hadn’t chastised him for his actions (even though she always did so softly and gently, it hurt more coming from her than from her sister, Angelica), ashamed that he had let himself go in front of her a little bit, and guilty that he had never treated her the way she deserved to be treated. That was why he broke up with her back during their freshman year of college, after all. He believed that she was too good for him, too worthy of a world that Alexander could never give her. Eliza, in light of the situation, appreciated his honesty, and the pair remained the closest of friends ever since, along with the other two adopted Schuyler sisters, one of which who happened to be his supervisor.

Plus, Eliza majored in counseling in college. It helped when Alexander decided, more recently, that he needed a person to talk to and that a therapist was just too far above his financial means at the moment.

He wished he had discovered his depression and anxiety a few years earlier than he did.

“God, I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but I’ve already been so stressed with the articles, and now this doesn’t help my situation any more, and _―_ ”

Eliza cut him off before he could get himself wrapped up in a ramble of useless justifications. “Alex, you don’t need to apologize. You went through a lot with John, and I can understand how briefly seeing him after so long would cause memories to flood back in. Both good and bad ones," she said slowly, adopting the timbre of voice she used when talking to her students at the high school where she worked. Alexander nodded, confirming her presumptions. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure this was just a one time thing.”

Eliza drew her hand back to grip her mug again, and immediately Alexander’s hand felt cold. He glanced around the coffee shop, as if the people milling about and the grinding sounds of the coffee machines and the soft Indie music playing in the background would distract him from his thoughts. _Just a one time thing._ The thought rang is his mind as clear and annoying as a bell. Did he want that to be "just a one time thing?" Or did he secretly hope to bump into John again? Or desire that John would call him, given he had Alexander's number still, to apologize for how clumsy the whole situation was?

Or did he anticipate that this would be the beginning of something new entirely; a chance to start fresh?

He was about to keep his thoughts to himself and away from Eliza because saying things out loud made them real. _Your sucky communication skills is what ruined your life in the first place, Hamilton. You love to fucking run your mouth except for when it’s directed towards those who care_ , Alexander reminded himself.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he said so inaudibly that he was shocked when Eliza snapped her head up with a questioning look plastered on her face (whether questioning what he said or why he said it with a volume that was no unlike Alexander, the latter didn’t know). She took a sip of her coffee, and he saw the gears turning behind her eyes as she pondered how to respond as calmly as possible.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Alexander looked at Eliza with a fire in his eyes that he hadn’t felt since their college days (or ever, once he realized he didn’t remember ever feeling this way before). It was the fire burning with determination; not determination for his work ethic or for fueling a debate with an uneducated individual on Twitter. No, for once, Alexander’s ever-electric eyes nursed the fire of determination aimed for his own personal needs. But there was also the look of apprehensiveness; an emotion so unfit for the tired face that was Alexander Hamilton. He always dove headfirst into everything, and it more often than not landed him in trouble with both Angelica and Washington. This? This was new.

 _No_ , he reprimanded himself, _John isn’t new. You know John. You never forgot him._

Alexander met Eliza's eyes and cracked his signature smirk, and it was the same quirk of the lips that he remembered showing John the first day they had met.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!!! so this was the first chapter of my first Hamilton-themed work, so i hope you all enjoyed!! i'm thinking about updating weekly (saturdays, maybe?), but once i decide for sure, i'll be sure to put it somewhere so y'all know.  
> make sure to listen to the Chapter Theme Song (which i will have every chapter!!), and leave me some constructive criticism!!
> 
> until next chapter,  
> ~ gabrielle


	2. Disquietude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Theme Song:
> 
> "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” John heard a familiar voice laced with a thick French accent whisper. It sounded close to him, too close for comfort. And now that he thought of it, John smelled the distinct scent of baked pastries that seemed to follow his friend Lafayette wherever they went. John cracked an eye open and was immediately blinded by the light in, well, John didn’t quite remember where he was. He had quickly shut his eyes again, squeezing them for good measure. God, his head was pounding and felt as if a million little men were banging hammers on the inside of his temples. What the hell had happened last night―

It all came rushing back.

_Wine, small talk, dinner, eyes, bedroom, tongue, kissing, running, drinking, AlexAlexAlexAlexAlex―_

John was brought out of his sudden whirlwind of thoughts by the voice of his friend. “ _Mon ami_ , are you okay? When you didn’t show at the diner nor answer any of my calls―” The remembrance of his forgotten commitment caused John to shoot his eyes open and sit up quickly, all of the blood suddenly rushing to his head and the light giving the illusion of looking directly into the sun. The bolt of nausea that manifested suddenly in his stomach was enough to motivate John’s legs into standing and running to kneel in front of the toilet in the bathroom.

Heavy footsteps hurriedly followed, which John assumed could only be Hercules. Had he been standing there the whole time? John didn’t hear him nor see him, but then again the olderman had always been less brash than his significant other _._ Another wave of nausea cut off John’s thoughts (Couldn’t anything this morning give him enough time to think completely?) and made its way up his throat and into the toilet.

“It’s okay, little man. Just let it all out.” John felt his hair being lifted from his face and was instantly filled with gratitude, as it made retching up all the alcohol from the previous night a _helluva lot_ more efficient. He had never felt the wonders of not having his curly locks dangling and blocking out his eyesight when throwing up. Not even when he was with Alexander…

 _...John stumbles into the dorm room drunk off his ass. Hell, he’s surprised he made it back onto campus without falling flat on his face somewhere along the way. He supposes someone must have helped him get back here, but he can’t remember. Now really is not the time to be contemplating such things, as he needs to vomit and he needs to do so_ now. _He feels his legs carry him to the small bathroom in his and Alexander’s shared dormitory, and John doesn’t remember bending down to be on his knees. He doesn’t comprehend what he’s doing when he lifts up the toilet seat or what happens before he slumps against the wall facing opposite of the toilet. He does, however, realize what’s going on when his mind catches up with his situation and one thought pervades all:_ Where is Alexander?

_Vision blurry, John takes out his cell phone and long-presses the number “1” on the keypad. It’s Alexander’s speed dial; he can remember that much._

_“Hello?” Alexander sounds groggy, sleepy, as if he had just woken up. John wishes he was there_ ― _wherever Alexander is―to see it. He thinks Alexander always looks so adorable as he wakes up in the morning and takes a second to process where he is._

_“‘Ey… where― where’re you? You… ‘m so drunk,” is all John can get out coherently. His brain is quite metaphorically swimming in alcohol, and it’s taking all of John’s willpower not to lean over the inviting-looking porcelain bowl in front of him and empty whatever is left in his stomach (which can’t be much of anything, at this point). His head is pounding and John is failing to tell if it’s the beer or the blow he took to the face during a bar fight. Maybe it’s the punch. He’s probably bleeding; that would explain the wetness he feels on the side of his face,_

_“Ah, shit,” Alexander curses silently to himself. “I fell asleep at the library again. Fourth time this week and there’s only seven days total. If Professor Franklin keeps it up with these writing assignments, I might ask the librarian for a futon to be permanently put in the back room.” A dry laugh echoes throughout the bathroom in which John is sitting. He doesn’t know if it was he or Alexander who made the noise. “God, what time is it?” John imagines Alexander glancing down at his watch in irritation. “Shit, fuck, shit. I’m packing up my laptop and other school-related paraphernalia now, babe. I’ll be back in say… ten minutes? You can tell me all about how you beat up some racist, pretentious prick at the bar. Don’t deny it, because I know you did and that’s why I love you. Okay, yeah, ten minutes, I’ll be home. Try not to throw up on any of my stuff.”_

_“No ‘romises,” John mumbles in response to Alexander’s verbose explanation before ending the call line._

_John can’t remember the last time Alexander actually_ was _here to help the former when he came home like this. John was a minor alcoholic while Alexander was a major workaholic. But John respected that. Plus, Alexander always made up for it to John in the best ways possible…_

...“John!” John snapped his head towards who was calling him and was met with the concerned eyes of both Hercules and Lafayette standing above him. And damn, he doesn’t entirely recall those lights being so fucking bright.

“...Yeah?” John hated how raspy and uncertain his voice sounded, but he supposed that was what happened to vocal chords after you hurl nonstop for five minutes straight.

“John, _mon cher_ , you zoned out for a good twenty minutes or so. Is everything alright? Why did you have so much to drink last night? Do not refuse because _je ne suis pas aveugle_. I saw all of the bottles. I thought you had stopped doing that after―"

In the middle of Lafayette’s chastising (and John was listening, he _really was_ ), a realization washed upon John and he asked, “What time is it?”

Lafayette let out an exasperated sigh as Hercules grabbed their hand to calm them down. They tended to act like a mother hen when it came to John and his wellbeing. But who could blame them? The guy was a mess for a majority of the time. “It is around noon, I believe. But that is not the point, John. The point is―”

“Oh, _shit_!” John exclaimed, cutting off a now-angry Lafayette as he grabbed the towel rack on the wall to help him stand up. He still felt woozy and actually swayed a bit before feeling firm on his feet, but he was standing and that was all that remotely mattered to John. “I’m― I’m _late_ , I need to _go_.” He started to make his way out of the now-crowded bathroom when Hercules grabbed his arm.

“John.” Hercules’s calm voice had a sharp, cutting edge to it that John would never admit he was slightly afraid of. Nevertheless, John attempted to pull his arm away from Hercules’s grasp, failing a whole lot more than he anticipated.

“Herc, let go of me! I need to―”

“John, it’s Saturday. Calm your ass down.”

“...Oh.” John immediately quit his fighting as his arm went limp in Hercules’s hand, who promptly released it. “Can you please move out of the doorway, at least?” John asked, fatigue making its way into his voice. Both of his friends complied, their hands still laced together. John glanced down at their point of intertwinement as he walked out of the bathroom and felt a pang of jealousy that he quickly put aside.

 _They are my friends,_ John thought resentfully. _I’m happy for them_.

John made his way into the small kitchenette that his apartment included and began to brew a pot of the strongest coffee he had. He glanced around the apartment, taking in all of his surroundings and what he owned, which wasn’t exactly much. Never had John thought his life would be so… _empty_. And he wasn’t just talking about the lack of furniture or belongings he possessed. Ever since John left his troubled childhood home in South Carolina in search of a better life in “the greatest city in the world,” he thought he would finally be allowed to live the life he always wanted. For a while, he did. At a point in his life not so long ago, John was happy. He was cut off from his abusive, homophobic, manipulative father completely and was miles away from the mere sight of him. John had a loving boyfriend, amazing friends, good grades at one of the most prestigious colleges in the United States, and enough money in his own personal bank account to get him through a couple of years _at least_. He had let go of his past full of beatings and substance abuse and grabbed onto a present full of support and affection. John had been happy. Then, as quickly as a tornado comes and destroys everything in sight, everything worth living for that John had had been demolished. His relationship was in shambles, his friends were forced to pick sides, his grades slowly started to decline (although he still managed to graduate), and his savings dropped scarily low once most of it had been wasted on alcohol and cigarettes (that shit was _expensive_ ). It had all changed for the worse in the blink of an eye, and John had yet to clean up the aftermath.

“John. Your coffee is finished.”

John, having drifted off into thought again, snapped back to reality to notice that, yes, Lafayette, now sitting at the kitchen counter with Hercules next to them, was right, and the coffee had finished brewing. He grabbed three mugs from the cabinet and filled each one equally, but perhaps putting a tad bit more in his own. He placed two of the mugs in front of his friends along with sugar and coffee creamer (who both muttered a soft “thanks”), and stood in front of them at the counter, his own hot mug being held in his hands. Not wanting to burn his tongue, John cautiously sipped it, but savored the way it left a trail of fire down his throat even so. The bitterness and virtually acidic taste of the coffee sobered John up almost instantaneously, and he wished all of his problems could be solved with a simple cup of hot bean water.

He mentally laughed at the thought.  _Could life ever be that simple?_

“John,” Hercules started, pouring some cream into his coffee and then passing the bottle to Lafayette, who did the same, “I know you’re not gonna want to, but do you wanna tell us what the hell is up with you?” John took another mouthful of coffee, contemplating on how to respond. It was something that Alexander had never taken the time to do.

Maybe things could have been salvaged if he had just...

“I need a smoke,” John admitted, hating the weakness that the statement portrayed but not finding a fuck inside of him to give.

“John, _mon ami_ , _vous avez quitté il y a des années_ ,” Lafayette replied instantaneously. John knew they were frustrated with him, as they only spoke French when feeling so. For a moment, John rendered himself an idiot for even saying such a thing but realized how truer it was becoming the further this conversation went along.

“Laf, you know I don’t know what the hell you’re saying when you speak French,” Hercules said, but his concern was evident.

“I said that John quit years ago. Which he did, if you do not recall.” Lafayette took a drink of their beverage and eyed John wearily.

“That’s the exact reason why having one now won’t hurt me.” John put his mug down on the counter, and the sound of glass hitting granite filled the silent room and caused everyone to flinch. John, fuming with anger not only at the prying of Lafayette and Hercules but at his life in general, stormed over to the apartment door. He threw on a sweatshirt hanging on the coatrack, checked to make sure he had money in the pockets, and bent down to slip his feet into a beat-up pair of Vans.

“John. Dude, tell us what the fuck happened!” John stood back up to find Hercules on his feet as well, Lafayette next to him, and John would be lying if he said he didn’t feel intimidated. Both of them were considerably taller than John himself, not to mention that Hercules had a minimum of twenty pounds more on him, as well. Threatening aside, John felt that his friends had the right to know what was plaguing his mind, so he took a deep breath and braced for the worst.

“I saw Alexander last night, okay? Is that what you wanted to fucking hear? Are you satisfied?” John couldn’t help the sarcasm that crept into his tone. They had wanted the confession, after all, and now both Lafayette and Hercules stood shell-shocked after getting one. John ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he picked up from Alexander when the latter was stressed, and took the silence as an open invitation to keep talking. “I was on a date. Nothing serious; nothing these days is ever serious. But we went back to his place with the clear intention of… well, wanting to fuck. I accidentally moaned Alexander’s name, though, and ran out before the guy could ask who it was.” Lafayette opened his mouth, a response ready on the tip of his tongue, but John continued, “I then literally ran into Alexander on the sidewalk. He was wearing a suit… must’ve been coming home from work or something. Anyways, we both fell to the ground, and I heard him say something. I didn’t really catch it because I was too fuckin’ busy running away from that, too. So I came home and drank to it.”

Again, the room possessed a silence so thick that John could most likely cut it with a knife if he tried. But he couldn’t stand it long enough, so he broke it by opening door, stepping out, and slamming it behind him.

 Goddammit, he needed fucking cigarettes.

 

* * *

 

“Do you really think that’ll be a good idea, Laf? I mean, neither of us have talked to or even seen Ham in _two years._  And shit, I heard he, like, works for a Senator now or something so he probably won’t even answer. Too good for us.”

“A Senator? _Connerie_. Who did you hear that from? I heard from one of the Schuyler sisters that he is a writer for _The New York Times_. I, how do you say, have the better receipts. He will have time for us, I am sure of it.”

“Laf, you’ve been in America for six years now. I think you’ve lost your ‘how do you say’ privileges.”

“You are just upset because I am right.”

“Maybe, but that’s not the point.”

Lafayette and Hercules were still seated at John’s kitchen counter, the latter not back yet from wherever the hell he ran off to. The formers, however, used the time alone wisely. They had not had a hot make out session, but instead had been deciding on what to do regarding the whole Alexander-John situation. Neither of them had come up with any decent ideas. Hercules had suggested somehow getting them to simply talk, maybe over lunch, but Lafayette had disagreed wholeheartedly. They argued that if Alexander had brushed off the encounter completely, it would make John look as if he were still torn up about their separating. They needed to know how Alexander felt about all of this. Once that crucial piece of information was figured out, they could continue on from there. That was why Lafayette had suggested they personally call Alexander; Hercules vetoed.

“The _point,_ _mon cher tailleur_ , is to find out if John should even waste his tears or his health on this. _Alexandre_ was the only one who could soften our dear John, but you and I both know what the aftermath of that was,” Lafayette stated, referring to the obvious. After John and Alexander’s break up, Lafayette and Hercules had vigilantly chosen to defend John’s honor. The couple’s reasoning was that they knew Alexander and had first-hand experience at how quick-minded he could be; they figured he would soon find something else to occupy his mind and would be fine in the long-run. John, as brash and abrasive as he sometimes could be, would need more support in the matter. Of course, it was nothing against Alexander as Lafayette and Hercules believed both boys were somewhat in the wrong. Alexander, of course, had taken the choice deeply to heart and had spewed some pretty vulgar and descriptive words to the couple. Lafayette and Hercules brushed it off, however; they knew that was how Alexander got defensive. John used fists, Alexander used words. But despite the unreciprocated hard feelings, the three had not talked since.

“First of all, what the fuck did you call me? Second of all, yeah, John is important and so is his mental health. The kid was practically a mess earlier, and God only knows what the hell he’s doing now. If we’re going to call Ham, it’s going to be you to do it. He always liked you better, anyways.”

Lafayette scoffed. “Really, Hercules? Let us not resort to such childish retorts.” Lafayette took out his phone, silently knowing that Hercules was right, opened his contacts, and scrolled down to “P” for “ _Petit Lion_.”

“You know, John’s probably going to be mad at us when he finds out," Hercules said, looking over Lafayette's shoulder to see exactly what the other was doing. Lafayette, however, seemed unfazed by Hercules's remark.

“ _If_ he finds out, Hercules,” Lafayette said, pressing a chaste kiss to their boyfriend’s cheek. “Only if.”

 

* * *

 

It was a little bit after one o’clock in the afternoon when Alexander finally opened the door to his apartment and closed it behind him. The rest of his coffee date with Eliza had gone well, with little to no mentioning of John after their initial... discussion. Eliza, Alexander thought, was good in that way. She knew when not to press a matter further, and even so, she knew how to effortlessly change a subject without sounding awkward or hasty. As Alexander walked her home and up to her apartment (which Alexander always embarrassedly gaped at in awe), they were finishing up a conversation about the anomaly that was the narwhal species....

_...“Okay, but you can’t tell me that you don’t believe unicorns exist! I mean, do you know how easily they could have evolved from narwhals? The two species are practically brothers, Alex.” Alexander fondly chuckles and looks at Eliza out of his peripheral vision. In another life, he and her could have comfortably been happy together; he firmly believes so._

_“You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like Peggy. Are you sure you’re not her and playing a cruel trick on me? I told you some pretty deep shit that I know she would use against me for blackmail.” They are at the Schuylers’ front door now, and Alexander almost asks if Eliza wants to go to his apartment instead; if she can stay with him a little bit longer because the moment she leaves, his thoughts are going to drift to undesired places. She turns to him and smiles, and yes, Alexander now has proof that they could have been content; they could have been in love._

In another life, _Alexander reminds himself_.

_“Alexander Hamilton,” Eliza says, gasping and raising a hand to clutch her heart, feigning offense, “I can assure you that I am nothing like the infamous Margarita Schuyler. I, for one, have funnier jokes.”_

_“That, my dear Eliza, is highly debatable. And, need I remind you, I majored in political science in college. I think I’m more qualified out of the two of us to argue the degree of your humor.”_

_Eliza laughs a laugh that Alexander can tell is one-hundred-and-ten percent genuine while fishing her keys out of her purse. She turns back to the door to unlock and open it. During all of this, the word “wait” is on the tip of Alexander’s tongue, he is so close to asking, why can’t he just say it―_

_She looks back at him, the door already open, and says, “I’ll see you later, okay, Alex? Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need to talk.” She reaches out and gently takes one of Alexander’s callused hands in both of her soft ones. “I mean it. Even if you just need to get out of your apartment. I’m sure Angelica won’t mind seeing you on off-days as long as you promise not to bring up any talk of your damn articles.” Alexander smiles (Eliza rarely curses, and when she does, he knows what she's talking about is serious), and it’s not sarcastic or flirtatious or fake. Eliza squeezes his hand once before letting go._

_Alexander doesn't want to think about how cold he is now._

_“I’ll take you up on the offer. No fucking clue when, but I will. I promise.”_

_“Good.” She takes a single step closer to him, stands on the tips of her toes, and places a quick peck to his cheek. It means nothing romantic nor does he want it to, but Alexander’s face still flushes at the token of affection. Eliza, however, is unflustered and steps back into her apartment, her face continuing to show sympathy towards Alexander. “I’ll see you later. And remember: call me!”..._

...Yes, Eliza was good in that way.

Alexander kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket on a makeshift coatrack, retreating to the bathroom. He carefully took out his contacts ( _damn those sons of bitches_ ) and messily tied his hair back. He grabbed his glasses afterwards and put them on, careful not to accidentally stab himself in the eye. He hated looking at himself in the mirror, so he then immediately walked over to the couch that sat in the middle of what could be considered his living room. Hating to be alone with his thoughts and not having an article to start days ahead of time (surprising, right?), Alexander pulled out his phone to do some mindless scrolling through Facebook. Christ, how long had it been since Alexander really behaved like a normal post-college student? Granted, it had been a year or so since Alexander actually graduated, but many graduates went years without finding anything to do with their lives. Luckily for Alexander, he didn’t have to worry about that.

At some point during his “mindless scrolling” session, Alexander fell asleep. And honestly, he would be lying if he said it wasn't the first time in a long time that he got some rest in his own apartment. About twenty minutes later, however, he was violently awoken by his phone blasting “Fergalicious.”

 _What the fuck?_ Alexander thought, lifting his glasses (which had now gone all askew on his face) and groggily rubbing his eyes. _That ringtone hasn’t played since_ ― _oh no oh fucking shit no._

Alexander, now very wide awake, scrambled for his phone to confirm his suspicions with reality. After he had found it (it had fallen into a couch cushion), with the ringtone still singing away, he looked at the screen, and it indeed read the name “Le Baguette."

_What do they want? Is it about John? You fucking idiot, of course it’s about John. How about you stop stalling and answer the phone before it goes to voicemail!_

Alexander followed his conscious for once, took a deep breath, and slid the green answer button to the right.

“Hello?” he answered timidly. God, it had been _so long_ since he had even heard Lafayette’s voice, and now he was going to hear it when they were at their angriest. He just knew it.

“I told you he would answer it, you _chou à coudre_!” Alexander heard the voice on the other end exclaim instead. It was surely Lafayette’s voice, but Alexander wasn’t completely sure if it was directed towards him.

“ _You can’t insult me if I don’t know what you’re saying, Gilbert!_ ” Alexander heard another voice on the other end shout. It was much quieter and seemed farther away than Lafayette’s had been, but this time Alexander was positive that the sound belonged to Hercules.

Christ, he missed them.

“Ah, _bonjour_ , _Alexandre_! It has been a while, _non_?” Lafayette’s was unmistakably talking to Alexander now, who was nervous all over again.

“Uh, yeah hey, Lafayette. What― what’s up?” For once in his life, Alexander was totally and utterly unsure of what the hell to say. He had to tread carefully; one wrong word could easily fuck all of this up. Whatever this was, anyways.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Hercules and I finally moved in together. I have to say, I am still fairly surprised as to why we did not do so immediately following graduation. Speaking of after graduation, Hercules also got hired by one of the most famed fashion designers in New York City! Is not that _fantastique_?” Alexander muttered a small “ _oui_ ,” attempting to read Lafayette’s intentions through the phone. To say the least, Alexander was perplexed. “Oh, and John has turned back to smoking and heavy drinking.” And _there_ was the inevitable mention of John― _wait what?_

Alexander heard loud coughing in the background and could only assume that Hercules was as taken aback as he was. The former couldn’t believe it. John? Smoking again? Getting black-out drunk? Last night he had seemed sober. In fact, John stood up a considerable amount quicker than Alexander had; something he would not have been able to do if _drunk_. Plus, he had quit, hadn’t he? That’s why he always smelled of cinnamon; John would chew cinnamon-flavored gum whenever he felt the urge to smoke or to drink his problems away. He couldn't have relapsed when he was going so  _strong―_

“ _Oui_ , he did, _Alexandre_.” Wait, had Alexander said those thoughts out loud? Shit. He really needs to realize when to keep his mouth shut. “He drank occasionally, yes, but really only in social settings. He was completely tobacco free, however, for two years. Ah, until today, that is. I think the stress has finally gotten to him. Which brings me to a question I have―”

Alexander had to cut them off there. This was too much information to handle in the span of five minutes, especially after not seeing any of these people―who he had once considered his best friends―for two years. Even after how they treated him... Alexander had to stop there before his thoughts got too carried away. He was finally talking to Lafayette, and John was supposedly not doing well; those were Alexander's main priorities. “Lafayette, hold on. What do you mean ‘until today?’ Are you with him right now? Why aren’t you stopping him? Did he tell you about―”

Lafayette sighed, and it was a noise Alexander didn’t know he missed dearly until now. “Yes, we saw him today, but no we are not with him. He left. But he did tell us about last night, if that is what you were going to say. That is the reason I called you. I want to know how you feel on the situation.”

For a minute, or maybe three, Alexander stood silent, which was very unlike him. Lafayette, the person Alexander had been most upset with when they left him to stand by John after the break up, wanted to know how _he_ felt about seeing his ex-boyfriend again for the first time in two years. For what purpose? To laugh in his face about being alone? To mock him?

_Why?_

After John and Alexander broke up, Lafayette and Hercules had both gone to assist John in recuperation, leaving Alexander in the dust. Alexander, rightfully so, had been beyond upset and beyond pissed off; he was numb. He was so numb that he didn’t even know what he was saying as he said the most hurtful and hate-filled things to Lafayette and Hercules. They hadn’t deserved it, but Alexander hadn’t apologized, either. He didn't think he would mean it if he did. And now one of them was asking for his opinion?

“I’m sorry, but why do you want to know? Why do you care? If you really wanted to know how I felt about all of this, why didn’t you ask me years ago?” Alexander knew that had been the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He hated himself for it.

“Alex, this is not about two years ago. That is an explanation for another time, _mon ami_. This is about _à présent_. So please, answer my question. How do you feel about running into John last night?” Lafayette’s voice was mellow; it wasn’t angry and it wasn’t full of malice. If Alexander was anything right now, it was confused.

“ _Honnêtement_?” Alexander asked.

“ _Honnêtement_ ,” they confirmed. “I would like to know the truth.”

“In that case, I think―scratch that, I _know―_ I want to see him again. It’s been years since we’ve had a civilized conversation, and I want to be able to―”

Alexander was promptly cut off before he was able to voice all of his thoughts. “ _Je vous remercie. C'était tout ce que j'avais besoin d'entendre._ ”

And then the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2!! i really wasn't sure if i'd have this chapter up this weekend, but i got it all done today and honestly, i'm proud of it. i think i have a pretty solid idea of where i want this fic to go as well as songs that i want to use for the chapter theme songs. make sure you listen to them!! it really makes reading the chapters a whole lot more fun when you can relate them to something else (just my personal opinion, though). leave your predictions and constructive criticism down below! i read them all!
> 
> until next chapter,  
> ~ gabrielle


	3. Commiseration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Theme Song:
> 
> "Art School Wannabe" by Sorority Noise

That tapping. That damn, insistent tapping. Alexander could probably, maybe, actually, _definitely_ get some fucking work done if that tapping would simply _cease to exist_. He looked down at his desk and realized with a disheartening satisfaction that― _oh_ ―he was in fact the one creating the annoying noise. He instantly stopped and instead projected his energy into bouncing his knee up and down. In retrospect, that didn’t prove to be any better.

It had been two whole, excruciating days since Alexander literally ran into John; one since Lafayette had called and then abruptly hang up. Since then, Alexander had not been able to fully function whatsoever. He sat at his desk at work on the following Monday morning powerless at effectively getting any of his assignments completed. His article on why representation of all sexualities in media was crucial (well _duh_ , it’s not as if Alexander was openly bisexual, or anything) sat open on his desktop computer with only a hundred words supporting his case. They were meaningless words, at that. He would have easily written almost five hundred by now, but he simply couldn’t get his mind to concentrate. Surely, the two cups of coffee he took at one time from the break room (and that he had drank no more than an hour earlier) didn’t necessarily help his attention span, either. However, he wasn’t about to blame his lifeline for his lack of―

“Earth to Alexander. You okay in there?”

Alexander snapped his head up at the mentioning of his name and saw none other than Angelica Schuyler leaning against the doorframe to his office. She still managed to emit the aura of being as polished and refined as ever, as well as looking totally relaxed in her surroundings. All the Schuylers seemed capable of perfecting that ability, Alexander mentally noted. Even the youngest and least-formal, Peggy. It was then that Alexander recalled meeting Angelica, having not met her during the previous four years that he had been friends with her sister Eliza, and the radiance he already detected from her…

 _..._ “Alexander _Hamilton?”_

_His name rings throughout the empty lobby as the secretary calls his name. He stands, flattening out his suit and briefly fixing his hair (He has to look decent. The person he’s meeting is basically his new boss.), and follows behind her when she beckons him. The secretary leads him down a series of hallways and up a couple of flights of stairs, and Alexander oddly feels as if he belongs here among the grand chandeliers and marble walling. It’s a memorable sensation that he is not too keen on forgetting anytime soon._

_Before he knows it, the secretary is opening up a door to an office and announcing his arrival to the woman sitting behind the desk. Upon looking at her, Alexander notices that her skin is a deep color, and he is instantly reminded of the color of wet sand he frequently saw back on Nevis. Cool and grainy, but possessing a comforting feel. This woman gives off that ambiance fairly well._

_The secretary leaves, shutting the door behind her and causing Alexander to fall out of his thoughts. The woman behind the desk stands and outstretches her hand, and the male notices that the way she dresses is as if she is ready to kill. Alexander is somewhat hesitant as he steps up to greet her hand with his own._

_“Angelica Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the woman_ ― _Angelica, Alexander corrects himself―says, firmly shaking Alexander’s hand._

Schuyler. Schuyler? Where the fuck have I heard that name before? _he thinks._

_Classy as always, instead of introducing himself, Alexander stupidly repeats, “Schuyler?”_

_Their hands disconnect, and Angelica sits back down in her chair. Alexander follows suit. “Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard of my father, Phillip? He’s a Senator for New York_ ―”

_“Of course I’ve heard about your father,” Alexander interrupts. He wasn’t a political science major for nothing. If Angelica’s annoyed with the twenty-two-year-old’s brashness, though, she doesn’t show it. Despite anything, she looks rather intrigued. “I know that name from somewhere else…” he trails off, looking around the room as he makes an effort to collect his thoughts. In doing so, his eyes land on a framed picture of Angelica and two other girls. One of the three looks oddly familiar… “Eliza!” he blurts out. “I know Elizabeth Schuyler. Are you related to her?”_

_Angelica chuckles, and Alexander immediately realizes that he’s making a complete fool of himself. Oh, well. Washington technically already gave him the job. What has he got to lose?_

Only everything, _he reminds himself._

 _“Eliza? She’s my sister. Technically, the three of us_ ― _Eliza, Peggy, and I―are adopted, but we’re as close as sisters can get. How do you know her?”_

_“I―” Alexander figures that blantly saying he broke up with her their freshman year of college wouldn’t leave a good first impression (not that what he was doing now was leaving a better one), so he instead says, “I graduated from Columbia, as well. We met freshman year and became very good friends. She’s easily one of my best friends, if not the number one. Although, I’m not sure if twenty-two-year-olds should have ‘best friends.’”_

_Angelica nods to this, a smile gracing her red-painted lips, then says, “I’m sorry, what was your name again? I don’t recall catching it.”_

_“Shit,” Alexander mumbles, registering that he never actually gave her his name and alternatively dove into the familiarity of her own. His eyes then grow wide at his lack of professional language in a white-collar setting. “Shit, sorry. I― forget I said any of that. What I meant to say is, you didn’t catch my name because I’m the idiot who never threw it. I’m Alexander. Alexander Hamilton.”_

_“Alexander? You wouldn’t happen to go by Alex, would you?” Alexander slowly nods, not really sure where the conversation is heading. “In that case, I’ve heard a fair amount about you.”..._

...“Yes, I’m fine. Why?” Alexander answered without thinking, focusing himself back on the present. The response of always being okay was set on auto-pilot for him. He knew from experience that wasn’t a healthy choice; he refused to bring himself to care.

“Well, for one, you haven’t necessarily been as... talkative today,” Alexander heard a shout of someone’s―probably Jefferson’s―say _“Thank God!_ ” but he decided unwillingly to ignore it (he was fond of his job and wanted to keep it), “and all around you haven’t been acting very… Alexander-y. Before you say anything,” she hastily added, noticing the way Alexander’s mouth was opening, ready to retort, “I’m not the only one who has noticed it. The majority of the staff has, in addition to myself, but no one wanted to ruin the quiet we’ve had and bring it to your attention. Well, everyone except me, that is. So here I am.”

Despite all the information that was just thrown at him, Alexander couldn’t help the question that tumbled out of his mouth and the cunning smirk that followed. “Wait, so you guys were talking about me? I didn’t know I was the gossip of the floor. I’m flattered.”

Angelica, obviously fed up with the other’s sardonic cockiness, rolled her eyes and shifted her stance restlessly. Alexander figured that she regretted coming to see what was the matter with him. “Yes, Alexander, if it feeds your ever-growing ego, we were talking about you. But you’re smart enough, I hope, to know that’s not the point at all.” She fully stepped inside the room, now, and closed the door behind her. Alexander, most of his imperiousness gone in a millisecond, swallowed anxiously, realizing that Angelica did, in fact, mean business. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Alexander, wanting to relieve the apprehensiveness that he was aware of building up in the room, grabbed his mug and downed the rest of his coffee. Then, he temporarily considered his options. He could tell Angelica what was really bothering him and live in comfort knowing that at least one more person had his back. But then again, on the other hand, he really didn’t need the pity of someone else looking down at him. He had already had enough of unwanted, sympathetic compassion to last him two lifetimes, and the last thing he wanted was another one of his close friends giving him that _look_. The look where the other person’s eyebrows furrowed inwards a smidge, and their lips quirked downwards only slightly. Mentally picturing it made him shiver. He _hated_ that look; it was common and universal and saved for those whose lives were _really_ the definition of “fucked up.” The only two people Alexander could take it from and knew that they meant it was Eliza and― he didn’t want to think about the other person right now. But speaking of Eliza...

“Wait. So you mean to tell me that your sister didn’t tell you what happened?” The thought prevaded Alexander’s mind, and although Eliza was a guidance counselor and sworn to secrecy with her students, Alexander wasn’t a student. Eliza had free range to spill his secrets―not necessarily that she would―to whomever she pleased, and Alexander didn’t know if that bothered him or not. What did he _honestly_ have to hide?

“Eliza? Oh no, of course she told me. Hell, we live together. I was plainly giving you a chance to confess to it yourself.”

Alexander deflated a little, but felt secure knowing that Angelica at least was giving him a chance to tell her what happened himself. Either way, he was aware that she would get all of the details. Again, all the Schuylers possessed a sense of trustworthiness, and Alexander was clearly finding more and more reasons to explain why he loved each and every one of them.

“So then you know that I saw John the other day. Although I don’t think ‘saw’ is necessarily the best word for literally crashing into him and, in turn, landing on my ass in the middle of a New York City sidewalk.” Angelica soberly nodded, and Alexander got the hint that she was urging him to say more than just the facts about the occurrence. So he continued, “I told Eliza that I wanted to see him again. I think I told the truth when I said that. Oh, and by the way, Lafayette called me Saturday afternoon.” At this new piece of information, Angelica perked up considerably, and Alexander was sincerely surprised that he had the nerve to announce that. The recognition of it caused him to run his fingers through his hair absentmindedly, something he did when stressed. He proceeded to grab a hair tie off of his wrist under his button-up’s sleeve to pull his unruly locks away from his face.

“Lafayette, as in the French person who ditched your friendship to stay on John’s side after you two broke up. Lafayette, as in the human who was your best friend all throughout college until, of course, senior year. Lafayette, as in―”

“Angelica, how many Lafayettes do you know of?” Alexander asked, almost but not exactly forgetting that Angelica hadn’t gone to college with Eliza, Lafayette, Hercules, John, and himself at Columbia, and that all of the knowledge she knew was solely based off of word of mouth from Eliza and Alexander.

“Just making sure.”

Alexander sighed and rested his elbows atop his desk, his head following to lay in his hands. The stress of the whole situation was finally creeping up to him. His life after John had been shuffling along _fine_ until two days ago. Was Alexander happy? He doesn’t know if he would use that precise word to describe his mental and emotional states, but he was living. He had a job, an apartment, a couple of friends, and he was living. His anxiety was at a manageable level, even if his quantity of sleep was lacking (but was it ever not?). Now. Now, he had to not only deal with all of the aforementioned, but with a situation that he was repressing for quite some time.

Before he understood what was happening, Alexander felt himself breathing heavily and unevenly. His vision was starting to get cloudy around his peripheral, and tears were prickling behind his eyes. His chest was tightening, making it painful to breathe. He felt his hands grasp his hair―to hold onto something or _what_ , he didn’t know―though he wasn’t conscious of doing so. He distantly heard someone calling his name, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond because all he heard in the forefront was _JohnJohnJohnJohnJohn_ ―

“Alexander!”

He snapped his head up and saw the panicked expression of Angelica not even two inches in front of his face, and he undoubtedly knew her countenance matched his own. Alexander comprehended the fact that he had to calm down, but for the goddamned life of him, he couldn’t. It was too much. It was all overwhelming and too much. There were tears streaming down his face now, but the act of wiping them away would just be useless; the erased trails would quickly be replaced with new ones.

“Alex, darling, can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me,” came the scared voice of Angelica. Alexander must have nodded at some point because a sigh of relief escaped Angelica’s lips. Still heaving heavy breaths, Alexander sensed his chair swivel around to the left and saw Angelica kneeling before him, her hands bracing herself on her knees. “Alex, I need you to breathe in time with me, okay? Breathe with my counts.” Alexander noticed himself nod again. “In, two, three, four.” He breathed in through his nose, though still shaky. “Hold, two, three, four.” He vaguely remembers doing an identical breathing exercise a lifetime ago. “Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.” It was during a rainstorm. “Very good. Okay, again. In, two, three, four.” Only then, he was with John…

_… “Alexander, babe, I’m back…. Hey, where are you?”_

_Alexander hears his boyfriend’s voice from the small dorm bathroom but can’t will himself to respond. He is aware his own voice would just sound broken and raspy, anyways. He had been sobbing in the bathroom with his arms wrapped tightly around himself for a solid fifteen minutes, the thunder cracking in the background every few seconds not helping his cause. He knows it’s irrational to get so worked up over rainstorms; he knows. However, all he can do is relive the memories of when he lost everything he used to have when the storms do come._

_The sound of the bathroom door opening reverberates through the back of Alexander’s mind, but it isn’t enough to force him to come to. He senses someone_ ― _most definitely John―cautiously walk up to and kneel in front of the toilet upon which Alexander is sitting._

_“Hey. Hey, I’m here.” John’s voice, usually entwined with the familiar sarcasm and jokes, but now soft, breaks through to Alexander and is enough to make him cry a tad harder. His shoulders shake violently, and he feels, from far away, John unravel Alexander’s arms from around his body. The sensation of his boyfriend’s rough, callused hands in his own grounds Alexander, but not is not sufficient to cause his panic to end. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that John is worried, either._

_“I want you to breathe with me on my counts,” John breathes almost silently. “Just focus on the counts and my voice, Alexander._ Dans, deux, trois, quatre.” _Alexander immediately realizes John is speaking in French, and he attempts to pay attention to translating and breathing as opposed to the storm raging onwards outside._ “Tenez, deux, trois, quatre.” _Alexander feels himself start to calm down, his attention now entirely on John’s words and the warmness of their hands holding each other’s_. “Dehors, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit.”

_That night, Alexander dreams not of water and death, but of cinnamon and curly brown hair…_

...Alexander didn’t even remember that he was, in fact, in his office listening to the voice of Angelica until she said, “There you go. Slow and steady now.”

He opened his eyes and saw indeed Angelica instead of John, but her face was still distressed, nonetheless. It took Alexander a quick moment to gather his bearings, and when he did, he was nothing short of embarrassed.

“Shit, Angelica, I didn’t mean for all of that to fucking happen. I think it’s because I haven’t gotten much sleep, and―”

Angelica stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress and then looking down at Alexander. “Are you seriously apologizing to me right now? Alexander, I’m not entirely sure if you are aware of this, but you just had a fucking panic attack, and I’m thoroughly convinced it wasn’t because of your lack of sleep. If anything, I should be the one apologizing because I had no idea in hell on what to do to help you,” Angelica quickly rebutted. “I swear, Hamilton, sometimes I think your pride will be the death of us all. You need to learn to slow down sometimes.”

Alexander smiled smugly up at her, and he knew it didn’t have the same sly effect with the tear stains on his face. He wiped them off with his shirt sleeve before stating with a shaky voice, “I think you’ve been hanging around Burr too often. You’re starting to sound uncannily like him.”

Angelica, seemingly both relieved and annoyed at Alexander’s sudden composure, huffed and strutted over to the door, opening it. “If that’s the case, then you should spend more time with him, as well. You could learn a few tips.” She turned back towards him, smiling, and Alexander read her face instantly. She hadn’t meant the insult in any way, shape, or form, but intended it to be a rather playful poke in the side. “In all honesty, though, I’m glad you’re better. We’ll talk more about the issue later. Get going on your article; I see you’re not nearly as far into it as I would have anticipated by now.”

And with that, Angelica stepped out and gently closed the door behind her, leaving Alexander in silence with the exception of his shuddering breath every other intake.

 _You had a panic attack in front of Angelica fucking Schuyler. Way to go, Hamilton,_ he chastised himself. _You’re fucking lucky you can trust her not to tell anyone._

And as he continued working on his article and the rare, stray tear streamed down his face every now and then, he realized that, indeed, he was lucky to have her at all.

 

* * *

 

That night, as Alexander again fell asleep at his desk, he dreamed of cinnamon and curly brown hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter down!!! sorry for all of the flashbacks in this one, i really needed to up my word count/provide insight into the past with a few of the characters. i'm sure a lot of the relationships seem confusing, but i promise, there's a theory behind my madness. also!!! john and alexander interaction coming next chapter!!! i know that's what all you guys want, so imma give it. i didn't want to just jump right into it and make the whole plot seem forced and rushed. again, a theory behind my madness.
> 
> as always, until next chapter  
> ~ gabrielle


	4. Practicability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Theme Song:
> 
> "Maybe" by Nat and Alex Wolff

“I swear to fucking God. Washington should’ve fired that Hamilton asshole by now for the amount of times he’s fallen asleep on the damn job. I mean, seriously. This kid is not fit for it.”

Alexander jerked awake by the sound of an unpleasant voice that could only be linked to Thomas Jefferson. The former wearily lifted his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking around his office. Jefferson wasn’t in the room, surprisingly, but Alexander’s office door was wide open. He didn’t think that Jefferson would have opened the door himself, so there was only one logical reason as to why―

 _Fucking stupid,_ Alexander thought to himself. _Why didn’t I close the door when I came in here?_

Sure enough, however, Alexander was plagued by nightmares the previous night, which were all about the night that he lost John. The terrors came in various forms, none of which ever exactly capturing the events as they happened. It always ended up worse than how it really went down. Alexander gasped awake drenched in a cold sweat on more than one occasion, and it was after the third one that happened at four o'clock in the morning that he simply gave up on trying to sleep altogether. It was no surprise that he came to work in the morning and crashed at his desk almost instantly while waiting for an email to come in from Angelica informing him of what his new article should be about. Forgetting to stop at the café at the end of the block for a cup of black coffee with two shots of espresso was certainly taking its toll on Alexander’s mental and physical state.

Alexander pulled his hair out of the ponytail it was in (it had to look a mess by now) and tied it up again. He slowly stood, the blood rushing to his head quickly, and sauntered over to the door, gently pushing it shut. He didn’t want to cause more attention to come his way, which was a rare thought he had.

He leaned against the door and draped his eyes closed, not wanting to sleep again but longing for some sort of resolution to the predicament he found himself in. Lafayette hadn’t called him back or said a word in general to Alexander since Saturday afternoon. It was Tuesday, and the thought of not knowing what was going to happen pained Alexander. Knowledge was always something that he prided himself on and not possessing any of it, especially in the current situation, made him want to tear his own hair out. Did John feel the same way about wanting to see Alexander again? Or was he repulsed at the idea of having to talk to one another? Had Lafayette lied to John and said that Alexander wanted nothing to do with the latter? Or maybe―

Alexander's eyes opened to the sudden feeling of constant vibration coming from his pocket. He reached inside and grabbed his phone, hesitantly turning on the screen to check who texted him. He didn't know if he wanted it to be John.

He looked at it, and without his glasses or contacts (had he really forgotten to wear one of them _as well_?) it was difficult to read the contact name. The struggle of seeing loosened the knot of anxiety that was in Alexander’s stomach, and after a few more seconds, he was able to read the name.

It was Peggy Schuyler.

Alexander sighed, not necessarily knowing if it was of relief or not, and unlocked his phone. Though Alexander wasn’t as nearly as close with the youngest adopted Schyler (she _was_ just starting college this year; he never had a chance to see her), Peggy always managed to make him smile when he needed it the most. She was positively more eccentric than her two older sisters combined, and Alexander supposed that maybe that was why he enjoyed her personality so much; it reminded him a lot of himself.

He opened his messages and read:

 **pegs:** _hey ham man! ang told me that u were lowkey sad (donut worry bc i dont kno the deets. she wouldnt tell me D: ) and i dont have class again until 12 so i came to send you some dank memes_

 **pegs:** [12 attachments]

 **pegs:** _u better laugh at these i stg i worked hard to find them_

Alexander laughed despite yourself and genuinely appreciated the thought that Peggy had for him. He made a mental note to himself to visit her campus some point soon to hang out with her. Some quality one-on-one time with the eighteen-year-old could do Alexander some good.

 **hammy:** _jesus fucking christ peggy_

 **hammy:** _the fact that u have that many memes on hold is kinda concerning but i wont think too much into it_

 **hammy:** _not sure i want to know what else u do with them_

 **hammy:** _but in all honesty thank u_

 **hammy:** _the one with nick cage saying hes gonna steal the declaration of independence is my fav_

It was almost instantaneously that Alexander received a response from Peggy.

 **pegs:** _hell yeah! i made a bet with ang on which one u would like the best and it appears that ur fav girl is gonna be 20 bucks richer ;)))_

Alexander subconsciously smiled at the message and slid his phone back into his pocket, silently thanking his lucky stars that he had such amazing friends. After all, Alexander lost almost a half of them after―

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

He jumped at how close the sound was to him and silently berated himself for forgetting that he was leaning up against his office door.

“Hamilton? You in there?”

This voice was a direct contrast to the one he heard earlier; this one felt thick and smooth. Alexander knew that it had to be Aaron Burr without even needing to look at him.

Alexander, after knowing Burr for some time now, wasn’t quite sure if he could call the older man his friend. Over the past year and a half that Alexander had worked for the _Times_ , he and Burr had gotten into their fair share of heated arguments, of course, but did the two hate each other? Alexander didn’t think so. Burr was the first person other than Angelica and Washington that Alexander had encountered here, anyways. He didn't want to hate him…

_...He is nervous, sure, that’s one word for it. But Alexander is also excited, energetic, electrified. Washington just entered the younger boy’s office not even five minutes earlier and informed him that he is the youngest journalist that he had ever hired, the information added discretely within their conversation. Alexander is definite that Washington told him that to frighten him into doing his best work, and Alexander knows it’s understandable that Washington might be feeling like he made a mistake with handing the job to Alexander. Instead of feeling scared, oh no, the fresh-out-of-college graduate is seeing his title as an opportunity to finally leave his mark on the world. If he shows all of the other writers up with his talent and drive, Washington is sure to be impressed. A higher position could easily be in Alexander’s future._

_Alexander sits behind his new desk, taking in the fact that this is all_ his. _This is_ his _desk,_ his _office,_ his _job_ , his _life._

_He doesn’t want to stop and think of how proud his mother would be of him. It will only cause him to be upset and remind him of the other world that he left behind._

_But he does so anyways._

_“My sincerest apologies for intruding, but I’m supposing that you are the famed Alexander Hamilton?”_

_Alexander turns a little too quickly in his chair towards the sound of the voice and sees a man. After glancing over him rather quickly, Alexander is able to conclude that the man is of about his own height and build but with ebony colored skin. The former also assumes by his stance and stature that he is perhaps a little bit older than Alexander himself. But despite all of this on first notice, who is this man and why is he showing up uninvited to Alexander's office?_

_“Famed? No, but I’d like to think I’m getting myself there. But Alexander Hamilton? Yeah, I can confirm that’s me. You are?”_

_The man takes a step closer to Alexander’s desk, at which Alexander is sitting, and outstretches his hand. Alexander stands and takes it in his own. “Aaron Burr,” the man responds, “at your service.” The two release the other’s hand and spend a quiet moment eyeing the other up and down. Alexander doesn’t mean it, but he’s gauging the competition. “So, Washington and Ms. Schuyler say that you’re the youngest hiree. Is that true? How old are you?”_

_Alexander now wonders if Burr is sizing him up, which would, at this point, only be appropriate. As Alexander previously thought, this new acquaintance looks to be only a bit older than himself. Maybe Alexander just unknowingly stole his place._

Great. I haven't even been here a full work day yet, and I'm already making enemies for myself,  _he thinks._

 _Regardless, he unabashedly answers, “I’m twenty-two and just graduated from Columbia in the spring. I double majored in political science and financial economics, if you were wondering.” Alexander searches Burr’s face for any sort of reaction, and he won’t admit that he is a little disappointed when he doesn’t find one. Anyways, he continues, “You’re probably asking yourself how I ended up here with those majors, and honestly? I am too. But not in the bad way, more in the ‘I-can’t-believe-I’m-working-for_ -The _-_ New _-_ York _-_ Times _-this-is-fucking-crazy’ way. I minored in journalism, though, so I suppose that’s going to good use. I hope one day I can go to law school and become a lawyer, but for now, I suppose this is where I am. Not that I’m complaining, of course,” Alexander finishes. With no embarrassment whatsoever, he realizes that he most likely just bored Burr’s fucking ears off of his head._

 _When Alexander opens his mouth to ask Burr as to where he went to school_ ( _he thinks,_ That could make me come off as less conceited _)_ the _other interrupts hastily with, “Can I give you some advice?” Alexander nods, not sure if he is eager to hear what his new co-worker has to say or not. Burr takes the nod as permission to go on, however, and simply says, “Talk less.”_

 _Alexander scoffs in spite of himself. It’s not like he hasn’t heard that one before, but coming from a full-grown man who happens to be someone new he's working with at a professional job instead of his elementary school teacher is kind of... childish but unnerving. Alexander can't help spitting out, "I’m sorry, what?”_ _  
_

_Burr smiles despite Alexander's harsher tone, and the latter notices how the former's white teeth contrast his dark skin. “Talk less, Alexander. Smile more.”..._

_...Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Hamilton, if you’re in there, open the damn door.” Alexander was violently pulled out of his memories and back into the present by the sound of Burr’s irritated voice. It was a few seconds before an exasperated, “Please,” was added, seemingly as an afterthought.

Alexander, starting to get a headache from Burr’s pounding in addition to the lack of coffee he’s had all day, stood straight so he wasn’t leaning against the door anymore, turned, and opened it. What he was met with was the sight of an aggravated Burr, who visibly sighed in relief when he noticed that Alexander had finally answered his pleas.

“Goddammit, finally. Have you read Angelica’s email yet? I'm going to go out on a whim and say you haven't.”

Alexander, admittedly not very alert as of now, took a moment to process Burr’s question. “Angelica’s email?” _Did_ he read her email? After a second, he concluded that, no, he hadn’t because that was what he had been waiting for before he fell asleep on his desk. Then Jefferson had made his smartass remark, and then Peggy, and then― “No, I haven’t. Why? Is it urgent?” If Alexander had napped through an important announcement from Angelica, he didn’t think he’d have the heart to ever tell her why he missed it.

“Is it urgent,” Burr quietly mocked, and Alexander knew he had pissed Burr off that easily, “yes, it’s urgent. She assigned us to work on an article together at the last minute because she was waiting for Washington’s approval. And because it’s two people writing as opposed to one, she’s giving us a fraction of the time. We need to start it today and get it done before Thursday if we want it edited and published by next week.” Burr threw all of this information at Alexander at once, who really just desperately wanted a cup of coffee. He knew the only way he would achieve at least _that_ goal was if he agreed to whatever the hell Burr was implying (which, he thought, was that they get together and start writing the article. On what, well, Alexander would have to find that out eventually.).

“Yeah, sure. Yeah. Um,” Alexander’s brain certainly was fried right now, “let’s work on it in the break room.” _Because that’s where the coffee is_ was silently added onto the end of the sentence. At this statement, though, Alexander saw Burr roll his eyes.

“Where else would we have gone, Alexander? Seriously, sometimes I wonder if you lied about graduating in the top five percentile at Columbia.”

Alexander, however, ignored Burr's remark and follows him out of his office and down the hallway to the break room.

 

* * *

 

After five excruciating hours working with Burr in the break room without a break ( _ironically_ ), Alexander had to get away from the essence that was distinctly Aaron Burr. They couldn’t agree on a viewpoint to write about (Alexander couldn’t believe that they couldn’t come to a compromise regarding the topic of whether or not Donald Trump should be allowed to run his own Twitter account.), so they decided to write the article based on both the agreeing and opposing perspectives. This ended with Alexander yelling at Burr fairly loudly ( _"How can you sit here and honestly tell me that you think that fucking sack of potatoes for a President should be allowed to basically declare war without Congressional approval on a goddamned social media platform?!"_ ) and then yelling even _louder_ when Burr didn’t have the audacity to argue back as fiercely as Alexander was ( _"Simply saying 'freedom of speech' does not answer my fucking question, Burr!"_ ). Alexander then slammed his laptop shut and stormed out of the break room like a five-year-old child. He knew it was petty, and he knew his fellow co-workers were annoyed with him at this point, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to get out of there before he got himself fired.

He was now roaming the bustling streets of New York City (without a jacket, dammit. He managed to storm out without a _jacket_.), not knowing where the hell he was going or how long he had been out. He feabily hoped that he was still getting paid for his time not in his office, though he knew that the thought was a lame attempt. The cold air was refreshing, though, Alexander reminded himself, and it increasingly lessened his anticipation to get back to the break room. When was the last time he had gone for a walk with no intentions of going anywhere specific in his beautiful city? When was the last time he admired the skyscrapers the way he had the first day he arrived here at seventeen years old? When was the last time he felt this exhilarated and free?

The answer to all of those questions was _not in_ _a long, long time._

Maybe storming out of his well-paying job and possibly costing the entire employment itself would do his mentality some good.

Maybe.

As he rounded a corner on a street he didn’t recognize ( _Damn. How far have I walked? What time is it?_ ), Alexander decided that his leisurely stroll could indeed be made even better with some sort of alcoholic beverage in his possession and then in his system. Not only would it ease his mind a little, but it would provide some heat for his steadily freezing body. A guy who spent his entire childhood in the Caribbean could only take so much of the cold.

Upon spotting the first liquor store available, Alexander strolled up to the door and opened it (which proved to be a hard task, as he really couldn't feel his hands). An electric bell announced his arrival, and the heated atmosphere that hit him as hard as a brick wall was a nice contrast to the air outside. As much as Alexander wanted to revel in the pleasant feeling, he decided against it and instead quickly moved himself to the aisle where they sold single bottles of beer. He didn't want anything classy or specific; he was never that way in college, and he sure as hell didn't want to be that way now. He just wanted _some_ thing with at least ninety percent of alcohol in it.

He stood looking at the shelves for a minute or two, genuinely not knowing the difference between any of them. After concluding that he must look like an idiot to the other customers in the store, he grabbed a random bottle that looked cheap (but not totally disgustung) and made his way up to the cash register. At the same time, the bell that announced his arrival announced someone else’s departure. He paid for the beer (Was seven dollar and fifty cents expensive? Alexander didn’t know.) and bade the cashier a good day, then exited the store.

As soon as his foot made contact with the sidewalk outside and the harsh air made contact with his face, the scent of cigarette smoke also pervaded all of his senses. His deductive abilities concluded that someone was smoking directly to his right. Disregarding his better judgement, as he had gotten into a number of fights in bars for his inability to shut up, Alexander turned to the person. Focusing all of his attention on attempting to pop the cap on his beer open with his thumb, and said, “You know, you should really consider quitting. You’d be doing yourself a favor, man.”

And as Alexander was taking a sip from his bottle (he was surprised he got it opened, even), the person responded after breathing out a huff of smoke, “You know, you should really consider staying in your own fuckin’ lane. You’d be doing yourself a favor, man.”

At the shock at the familiar sound of a deep, slightly Southern-laced voice, Alexander started choking on his beer. In turn, the stranger finally gazed up from his cigarette. At the sight of Alexander (at least, he supposed it was because of that) he heard the stranger start coughing on a mid-inhale of smoke. This caused Alexander to look at the stranger from almost heaving up a lung, and the two men locked eyes almost instantly.

The eyes Alexander saw were broken, distressed, confused, and hurt.

And, after a moment, he recognized those eyes as being John’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayayayayay another chapter!!! i keep procrastinating and leaving the whole chapter until today to write it. that probably isn't a good idea in retrospect, but i've been so damn busy that it's hard to make time for it. anyways, here it is in all of it's glory. if it changes a little within a few days of posting it, it's because i've read over it a million times and changed it a tad. i'm my own worst critic, after all.
> 
> until next chapter  
> ~ gabrielle


	5. Agonizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Theme Song:
> 
> "Blow Me (One Last Kiss)" by P!nk

_You told John you’d fucking be back early tonight_ , Alexander curses to himself as he half-runs half-walks his way through campus and towards his dormitory building at one o’clock in the morning. _You promised him. You fucking promised him!_

Alexander grips his textbooks a little tighter, both for warmth from the February cold and the anxiety slowly flowing throughout his body causing him to be on-edge. It has been awhile since Alexander’s been home to fall asleep with John, and he misses it. In fact, now that he thinks of it, it’s been awhile since Alexander has had the chance to relax with John and tell his boyfriend how much he loves him through various actions, rather than words. Most nights, Alexander falls asleep at a table in the library. When he wakes up, he promptly gets back to working until his first class in the morning. The most he’s seen of his friends―Lafayette, Hercules, Eliza, _John_ ―all week has been during lunch breaks. Alexander doesn’t intend to neglect them; he loves all of his friends and appreciates them more than anything. However, Alexander isn’t like them in a sense that's less obvious. He, unlike his friends, is here at Columbia, one of the top schools in the nation, on scholarships and financial assistance alone. He can’t let the administration think he’s not worthy enough for the help he’s been given. He can’t let them think that.

So he hasn’t.

And he _won’t_.

By staying at the library and surrounding himself with so much knowledge, Alexander has no other motivation than to work his ass off so he can acquire more. That’s sort of his thing. He hates not knowing information that is so easily obtainable.

So he works and strives and thirsts for more. Ironically, Alexander is similar to a hurricane; he rages on and is almost never satisfied.

However, this mentality has resulted in quite a few fights with his boyfriend, John.

Alexander knows that John supports him in all his endeavors; that’s not at all the root of the fights. John is always the first person to defend Alexander’s honor when others tell the latter that he should slow down or to get some sleep; he always stays up to ungodly hours with a writer’s-blocked Alexander and provides advice on demand; John, in fact, doesn’t mind that Alexander sleeps most nights at the library, as the former respects and, at times, mimics Alexander’s subconscious need for independence. He agrees with Alexander’s values and his workaholic attitude and behavior.

No, those aren’t the issue. _John_ isn’t the issue. Alexander knows this.

John gets upset because Alexander makes promises that he never keeps.

It’s not intentional, God no, it’s not intentional, but Alexander has a one-track mind when he’s working. So much so that _―_ again,  _unintentionally―_ Lafayette’s birthday, Hercules’s fashion internship celebration, Eliza’s Christmas get-together, and John’s suggestion that they should all go hang out at the local bar one night, were all half-spent by Alexander at the library. He wants to spend time with his friends, truly, Alexander does. And he promised John he’d start to set an alarm, pay more attention, do _something_ to remind himself of his commitments. But Alexander has broken that promise, too. And now this on top of it? Why didn’t he just _stay home_ tonight…

... _Alexander was facing his bed, his messenger bag opened on top of it, and violently attempting to shove his textbooks inside of it. He was slowly becoming more and more irritated at how they wouldn’t all fit when his boyfriend’s voice rang through the comfortable silence._

_“Yo, Alex,” it said. Alexander momentarily stopped trying to puzzle-piece everything into his bag and smiled to himself, knowing that his boyfriend wouldn't be able to see it. John almost never called Alexander “Alex;” the former said that everyone used that nickname, so he wanted to be original and called Alexander by his full name. So that's what John did. He only used the sobriquet, really, during sex. And, well, they weren’t having sex right now._

_Alexander turned and faced John, who was sitting on his own respective bed on the other side of the small dorm room, reading a book. His curly hair was tied back in a loose bun, and he was wearing Alexander's sweatshirt that was too big for the owner, along with a pair of ripped skinny jeans._

_Alexander couldn’t help but silently ask some deity up above how he was so blessed to have such a goddamn beautiful boyfriend._

_Alexander sat on the edge of his own bed as he responded, “Yeah, Jo?”_

_John dog-earred the book page that he was reading and put it down, looking at Alexander pointedly. “I think you’re confusing me with another one of your boyfriends. My name is John. Remember me?” The idea that Alexander was cheating on John and that was why the former was never home was a constant joke between the two. No harm was meant by it, Alexander knew. Though they would most likely never voice it out loud, the two trusted each other more than words could say. Infedelity wasn't a real consideration._

_“No, no, I know which one you are. I just thought we were being funny and using nicknames that didn’t exist. Couldn’t think of a better way to shorten ‘John.’”_

_Without missing a beat as per usual, John replied, “You could’ve hopped on the family bandwagon and called me 'Jack.' Or, better yet, 'J' would’ve sounded a lot fuckin’ cooler. I thought all that damn studying at the library would have made you smarter, Alexander. Tsk."_

_Alexander smiled and fondly rolled his eyes, surprisingly choosing not to respond to John’s well-made point. He would never admit it, but John, in more areas than one, was considerably smarter than Alexander. “What did you want before?” he asked instead._

_Something quickly shifted in John’s eyes, and though it was for a split second, Alexander picked up on it. John was uncomfortable with whatever it was he had to say. Alexander knew better than to think that John would ever let his weaknesses and fears show; regardless of whether or not the couple had been dating for almost two years. Alexander, however, would never ask for John to display his vulnerabilities or get upset with him for being stoic. Both of the junior year students, together, revealed their pasts and secrets at their own pace, neither one pressuring the other. It was a system that had worked since the middle of freshman year, when they first met, and Alexander wasn’t about to break it now._

_John hadn’t spoken yet, and Alexander figured it wasn’t against their system to prompt him. He adopted a softer tone, but not so soft that John would mistake it for sympathy, and said, “John? You don’t have to tell me if you changed your mind.” Alexander knew of John’s past full of depression and anxiety, and like John, Alexander despised being pitied._

_At this, John looked up at Alexander, and as if that flash of uncertainty-or-whatever had never even flitted across his gaze, John calmly stated, “Oh. I know it’s late notice and you’re getting ready to leave and shit, but I was wondering if you wanted to maybe stay home tonight.”_

_Alexander knew his boyfriend well enough to recognize when John was apprehensive about something. The statement, against John’s wishes, sounded more like a question, and Alexander knew instantly that John was embarrassed about asking to spend time with his boyfriend._

_He shouldn't ever have to be._

_Alexander still contemplated his options, however. This was something he would come to regret later, in retrospect. He had an eleven-page essay due in two weeks that he wanted to finish, and if he went to the library tonight, he knew he could knock out at least three-fourths of the essay. If he stayed home, no doubt would John take advantage of it and Alexander would be all too happy to comply―_

_“How about I go for a few hours and get back early, say,” Alexander glanced at the clock on the bedside table, which read four-fifteen, “eight o’clock?” That would give him about four hours to work, which was plenty of time. “We can push our beds together like we did that one time a few weeks ago and order take-out. We can also set up my laptop and binge watch Supernatural.” Alexander knew that wasn’t the answer John wanted, but the small smile his boyfriend gave him told Alexander that John appreciated the compromise, anyways._

_“Yeah, that sounds good,” John said. “I’ll have the shit ready for when you come back.”_

_Alexander smiled at John, then grabbed his bag from behind him and walked to the door._

_Just as Alexander was about to bid John goodbye and open the door, the other beat him to it and uttered a quiet, “Alexander?”_

_Alexander looked over his shoulder to see John sat up in his bed now, as opposed to lying relaxedly. “Yeah?”_

_“You promise?”_

_Alexander knew what John meant by the simple question. Alexander forgot almost everything he had to do, and maybe it was his ADD or his genuine lack of organizational skills. Either way, John asking Alexander if he promised made the latter realize that his boyfriend sincerely meant the proposed question._

_Alexander, wanting to show that he greatly valued John and all that he’s put up with for the years he’s known Alexander, confidently strode up to John and kissed him hard; kissed him surely._

_When they pulled away from each other, Alexander whispered against John’s lips, “I promise.”..._

...Alexander quickly scans his student ID to be allowed into the dormoratory building after hours and runs up the three flights of stairs to his and John’s shared room. He knows that everyone who can hear him is aware that it’s Alexander, as he is known in the building for always coming in late, but he can’t find a fuck inside of himself to give. He just wants to see John and hold him and kiss him and tell him he’s oh so _sorry_.

Alexander finally arrives outside of their room and fishes his keys out of his pockets. With shaking hands _―_ whether from the cold or nervousness, Alexander isn't sure _―_ he unlocks the door. He gingerly steps inside, not sure if John’s asleep or not, and closes the door behind him softly. He places his bag next to his feet and, bracing himself, Alexander flicks the lights on.

As soon as he does, however, Alexander wishes he hadn’t.

What he sees before him can not be described as any other way than a mess.

Their beds are pushed together and Chinese delivery is on the bedside table, as John promised he would have ready for eight o’clock.

 _He keeps his promises_ , Alexander thinks bitterly before comprehending the rest of the small room.

Next to the beds, along with a few empty containers of Chinese food that John must have eaten alone, are a number of bottles of beer, all with varying fullness. Alexander mentally counts them all, which ends up being nine. _Nine_.

Despite all of what Alexander’s eyes are seeing, he doesn’t see John. This sends the former into a small sort of panic, wondering if John drunkenly left and ended up somewhere less than favorable.

The panic and worry quickly subsides, however, when Alexander hears to the left the toilet flush along with the bathroom door opening. He quickly pivots around and sees John leaning with his head against the doorframe, seemingly unaware of Alexander’s presence. Alexander takes in the other's appearance and concludes that his boyfriend is, without a doubt, drunk. He notices the way John holds tightly onto the frame, as well as the slanted way he stands. His hair is pulled up into a knotted mess, and his breathing is raspy and uneven. He must have just finished throwing up.

Even so, Alexander breathes out a simple, “John.”

At the sound of his name, however, all drunkenness seems to evaporate out of John as he snaps his head up to meet Alexander’s gaze. Alexander, not expecting such a quick reaction, stumbles back a couple inches, his eyes wide.

“You,” John slurs out, and Alexander mentally confirms that John is indeed drunk off his ass.

“John, listen…” Alexander starts. He’s not sure how to go about this. He’s dealt with John as a sad drunk, a happy drunk, and a horny drunk. But never an angry drunk. Alexander doesn’t know how the man had so many intoxicated personalities, but it seems as if there's more to be discovered.

“No, ‘m not gon’ lis’en!” John yells, and Alexander involuntarily flinches. Alexander’s had John yell at him before, and Alexander has yelled at John. But this time, there’s something about the alcohol-fueled fire in John’s eyes that frightens the small Caribbean.

“John, please lower your voice. You’re drunk. We can talk about this in the morning. Please come and sleep with me.” Alexander holds his hands out in a sort of way to try and show John that he doesn’t want to fight. Despite the serious situation at hand, Alexander can’t help but imagine that he’s a bullfighter and John is inevitably the bull, ready to charge at any provocation.

John, fitting the part, dangerously steps up to Alexander, his finger held up and pointed towards the latter in an accusatory manner. “You ‘romised!” John practically sobs, and Alexander realizes with a shock how much he let his boyfriend down. “One ‘ight! I ask ‘or one night from you, Ale’ander! You… you can’t give ‘e that? Do you ‘ven care?”

Alexander’s heart breaks into a million pieces as John really starts to cry, and tears annoyingly threaten to spill from Alexander’s eyes, as well. John was right. All Alexander owed him was this one request, and he couldn’t even fulfill it. But Alexander _does_ care; he cares more than anyone else in the world. As much as he wants to grab John and shake him until he understands that, however, Alexander doesn’t want to have this conversation with John right now while he’s drunk. He wouldn’t understand what’s going on let alone remember what had happened.

As Alexander begins to beckon John to bed again, John cries, “It’s always ‘bout your _damn work_. Your _damn grades_. Always! You ‘on’t even _care_ ‘bout me, ‘lexander! All you ‘are ‘bout is your _goddamned self_! Well, you know wha'?” Alexander can’t bring himself to stop John at this point. Tears are already spilling from his eyes and he _knows_  what John’s saying isn’t true, but he hates himself for allowing John to think those things, regardless. It doesn’t matter that they’re not true because John thinks they are. “‘m done. ‘m done bein’ treated like I don’t even exis’. ‘m done with you. I wan’ you to go.”

Alexander doesn’t know what to say. He and John have had their fair share of fights, of course. During all of them, things were said that the other didn’t mean. But never, _never_ , had John asked Alexander to leave. It was always simple requests that maybe John didn’t want to sleep with him that night, or maybe John just needed to go for a walk to clear his head, but he never asked Alexander to leave.

Alexander figures it has to be because of the alcohol, right?

“John… John, babe, you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re _―_ ”

Before Alexander can finish his sentence, however, John loudly interrupts, “I know what ‘m sayin’! I wan’ you to leave! Now!”

Alexander, his flow of tears matching John’s and still not wanting to fight (but realizing that may have been unavoidable), grabs his messenger bag, opens the door, and leaves.

He retreats back to the library, tear stains frozen onto his face from either the coldness of the air or the coldness of John's expression, Alexander doesn't know.

 

~~~

 

The next day, Alexander wakes up in the library, wholeheartedly believing that his phone will ring in a few minutes, and John will be on the other line apologizing for the previous night; begging for Alexander to come back to the room so John can make up for it.

That call never comes.

Alexander skips breakfast as usual and walks to his first class of the day, not running into Lafayette or Hercules holding hands, on their way to the dining hall like he usually does. He tries not to think too much into it, and Alexander tries to convince himself that maybe Lafayette spent too long fixing their hair or Hercules possibly forgot a specific needle or something for sewing.

They definitely aren’t avoiding him, no matter how much Alexander ponders the credibility of the thought.

All morning, Alexander doesn’t receive a single call or text from any of his friends (he would know; he checks every five minutes during his classes. It isn't until Professor Franklin interupts his lecture on some scientific method to ask Alexander if he's expecting someone, does the latter finally put it away.). Alexander tries so hard not to let it send him into a panic, and he holds true to that until he practically runs into the dining hall at lunchtime.

As he walks in, walking right past the line to order something to eat, he sees Lafayette, Hercules, John, and Eliza all seated at their normal booth. John looks like an absolute wreck, and Alexander holds back from bursting into tears at the sight of him. The rest are all leaning in, seemingly in a deep conversatio that Alexander desperately wants to be a part of, as if everything were normal. As he slowly makes his way to the booth, however, Eliza quickly catches his eye. She ever-so-subtly shakes her head at him, the sad look in her gaze warning him not to approach them, and more importantly, John. Alexander nods, tears already pouring down his face.

He hurries out of the hall as fast as his legs can carry him, not caring about the majority of the student body that is staring at him as he does so.

That night, as Alexander's quietly having a panic attack in the library bathroom, not sure where else to go, Eliza texts him letting him know that he can stay in her dorm with her for as long as he needs to.

Alexander calms himself down (John's calming voice is still counting in his head), slings his bag over his shoulder, and takes Eliza up on her offer.

When he knocks, she greets him with a steaming cup of hot peppermint tea and a bag with a couple of changes of clothes that she must have gotten from his and John's dorm.

Alexander thanks her greatly as he collapses into her arms.

 

~~~

 

Almost an entire week flies by, and Alexander still hasn’t heard or read a single word from John. Every night, he lies on Eliza’s roommate’s bed (" _Theodosia got an apartment off campus with her older boyfriend, Alex. When I told you that you could stay for however long you needed to, I meant it.”_ ) and quietly sobs, making sure that Eliza can’t hear him. And every night, Eliza turns on the light and talks to Alexander until his shaking and sobbing subdue, and he succumbs to sleep, though it only be for an hour or two.

Alexander has asked Eliza countless times if John has said about him to her, and every time Eliza responds with the same answer: “He has, but I can’t disclose that information to you, Alex. I’m sorry. When the time’s right, he’ll tell you how he feels himself.”

It’s on the Saturday morning following the original incident that Alexander gets a call right in the middle of Eliza giving her now-signature lecture on confidentiality. Out of politeness, Alexander doesn’t reach for his cell though the anticipation of it possibly being John kills him. It isn’t until Eliza tells him to do so that he actually reaches into his pocket and pulls it out.

The caller ID bears the name he’s been anticipating.

“It’s John.”

 

~~~

 

John requested on the phone that Alexander meet him by the flagpole out on the quad in a few minutes. It was a miracle that Alexander understood what the other said to him at all because the former couldn’t help but notice how dead the voice on the other line sounded.

That wasn’t his John, and he hated to think that he was the cause of that. There was enough guilt involved that Alexander almost didn't go.

However, with extreme prompting from Eliza, Alexander threw on a jacket and made his way to the flagpole.

And there’s John.

From a distance, Alexander muses, John looks like any ordinary college student casually waiting for someone; maybe to go get a cup of coffee, or to go to the library to study together. But as Alexander gets closer, he notices how uncharacteristically messy John’s hair is, the red puffiness of his eyes, and the anxious way he shifts from foot to foot.

Alexander wants nothing more than to run away and never look back.

But this is his John, Alexander thinks. He shouldn’t be scared of this man, but instead be running towards him.

He can’t bring his legs to do so.

When Alexander approaches John, the latter finally notices his presence. There’s no greeting smile, no peck on the lips. There’s no sarcastic remark about the way Alexander’s hair is falling out of his ponytail, no hug that’s always tight enough to make Alexander feel safe.

 _This isn’t my John_ , Alexander’s brain panics.

John’s mouth opens at some point (Alexander doesn't recall if it's seconds or minutes since he first arrives) and words start to spill out. With the words, come tears, and Alexander can’t comprehend anything of what John is saying other than _over_ and _break up_ and _done_ and _sorry_ and _away_ and _work_ and _love_. All of those words individually mean nothing to Alexander normally, but in the context of the situation, they mean everything and too much and not enough all at once. There’s a painful ringing in his ears, and Alexander can’t focus on anything except for how beautifully aching John’s face is to look at when he cries and _why am I not crying he’s breaking up with me why am I not crying_. Alexander thinks he hears John say his name a few times, but he can’t bring himself to respond because his chest feels oh so too tight and his head is pounding oh so too hard and he feels the wind of a hurricane and hears the scream of his mother dying and leaving him. That's what John is doing: leaving him. Alexander figures that John must have given up all together because he pivots and walks away before Alexander gets the chance to open his mouth and _goddammit, say something!_

When he does open his mouth, however, out comes a strangled cry along with one painful thought.

 _John isn’t my John_.

 

* * *

 

Alexander didn’t realize he was breathing hard and crying until the stranger in front of him grabbed his arm and asked him if he were all right. Alexander then focused his eyes enough to see that _no_ that wasn’t a stranger, but John who grabbed his arm. Alexander noticed with a brief realization then, as well, that John had tears in his eyes. Tears and something else that Alexander couldn’t detect because his mind was swarming with bad memories and mistakes and the familiar pressure of John’s firm hand around his arm. 

With a silent look of understanding and agreement (they were always able to have, what their friends called, "eyebrow convos" and subconsciously participating in one now made Alexander’s heart hurt), both men faced the sidewalk and began walking with each other; not close enough to brush arms accidentally, but close enough that it was clear that they had a joint destination. Alexander wasn’t sure if John instantly remembered the last time they saw each other in the cold, before they ran into each other three nights earlier, as he had, or if John placed that memory in the far back of his mind, never to be seen again. Either way, they walked the whole way in an uncomfortable and awkward silence, the tens of blocks to Alexander’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh!!! you guys finally get the reasoning as to why john and alexander broke up!!! honestly, in my opinion, it's a very lams-y thing to happen, considering the personalities of both of them. even if you don't think that is what would happen, too bad. it's my universe and that's what happened sorry. anywayssss, in other news you mAY have noticed that i changed the chapters so that this is 5 out of 10. i'm aiming for that total number, but if anything changes, i'll be sure to change it up there, too. hope you guys enjoyed this addition!!
> 
> until next chapter,  
> ~ gabrielle


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